


how can i stay away?

by witching



Series: you've been like a light [12]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Banter, Feelings, Friendship/Love, Kissing, M/M, Martim Week 2021, Martim week: sneaking around, Teasing, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: “Can I help you, Timothy?” Martin murmurs, bringing his hands up to settle on Tim’s waist.“You could say that,” replies Tim with a little shrug. He moves impossibly closer, pressing the whole length of his body up against Martin’s. “I was looking for a file.”“I’m not a file,” Martin tells him, pointing out the obvious.Tim gives him a quick little smile. “I was looking for a file,” he repeats with emphasis, “but then I found something much better.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: you've been like a light [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668694
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	how can i stay away?

_and if my love's too strong for you, walk away  
but i can't make this wrong when i see your face  
my home is your body, how can i stay away?_ _  
_

// carly rae jepsen, 'felt this way'

* * *

When Martin sees Tim hurrying to catch up to him, he stops and waits. Mostly just as a courtesy, an easy accommodation he would make for anyone, but also because it worries him a little – Tim isn’t running, and he looks happy enough, but if he had to follow Martin into the stacks rather than just waiting two minutes for him to return to his desk, then he must have something important to say, right? So Martin waits for him, and Tim brightens, his brisk half-jog slowing.

He sidles up casually, looking so conspicuously innocent that it makes Martin immediately suspicious. He’s about to say something about it, to ask what Tim is playing at, but then Tim makes it very clear what he’s playing at when he crowds into Martin’s space, pushing him back against the shelves. 

Laughing under his breath, Martin glances around anxiously, craning his neck to see the ends of the aisle as if he expects to find someone there watching them. When he sees nobody, he turns back to face Tim, who is blinking up at him expectantly. His face is dangerously close, his breath ghosting across Martin’s lips.

“Can I help you, Timothy?” Martin murmurs, bringing his hands up to settle on Tim’s waist.

“You could say that,” replies Tim with a little shrug. He moves impossibly closer, pressing the whole length of his body up against Martin’s. “I was looking for a file.”

“I’m not a file,” Martin tells him, pointing out the obvious.

Tim gives him a quick little smile. “I  _ was  _ looking for a file,” he repeats with emphasis, “but then I found something much better.”

Cocking his head to one side, Martin puts on a faux thoughtful expression, makes a few pensive humming noises. He drags it out playfully until Tim leans into him even more and pouts his lips. “Oh,” Martin says, nodding his head like something has just dawned on him, “you mean  _ me.” _

His pout deepening, Tim shoves Martin’s chest gently. “Yes, I mean you,” he says with a great deal of exasperation. “Why are you like this?”

Martin can’t help himself; he laughs out loud at that. “Why am  _ I _ like this?” he asks incredulously. “Last I checked, I didn’t follow you into the stacks during working hours just to get up in your personal space and  _ whine  _ at you.”

“I’m here for much more important reasons than whining,” Tim declares matter-of-factly, and then promptly fails to elaborate.

“And those reasons would be…” Martin prods.

Rather than answering him in words, Tim huffs out a little sigh and finally closes in to press his lips to Martin’s. It’s quick and chaste, his lips lingering for a moment but not parting to deepen the kiss. Still, when he pulls away, Tim is flushed, his eyes wide and wanting.

Darting his tongue out to wet his lips, Martin blinks a few times, waiting to see if Tim is going to do or say anything else, but Tim just looks at him, almost like a challenge. Martin is torn between the urge to kiss him again, to kiss him deeper, to kiss him  _ forever, _ and the more sensible voice in his head telling him they’re at work, out in the open, anyone could catch them here.

Then there’s something deeper, the memory of their first time, the little thrill in the pit of his stomach at the thought of someone walking in on them. Not here, he tells himself, shaking his head clear of the idea. Not now.

“Is there anything in particular,” he asks Tim eventually, “that made you want to do this right at this very second?” He pauses, takes in Tim’s furrowed brow, and adds, “I’m only asking in case it was something I did, so I can avoid doing it again.”

“I’m hurt,” Tim shoots back. “Positively wounded. Must I have a  _ reason  _ for wanting to kiss you? Must I have  _ patience  _ and  _ willpower  _ to do it at the appropriate time and place? I think not.”

“I think yes,” says Martin, taking Tim’s wrists in both his hands and gently pushing him back, just a short distance. “Believe me, I would love to skive off work and just kiss you all day, but I just don’t think it’s very practical.”

Tim breathes a soft, humorless laugh. “Why does it have to be  _ practical? _ I hate practical.”

“I know you do, love,” Martin soothes him, bringing a hand to rest lightly on his cheek. “That’s why it’s my concern and not yours. All you have to do is listen to me when I tell you that it’s not a good idea right now.”

“You know, I’m getting mixed messages here,” Tim says, somehow managing to sound petulant and righteous at the same time. “Telling me I have to  _ listen  _ to you about  _ not  _ doing this, when you  _ know  _ that bossing me around is a turn-on.”

"C'est la vie," Martin sighs with a shrug. "What are you going to do about it?"

A beat, and then a slow smile spreads across Tim’s face. “I could do  _ so  _ much about it, if you’d let me,” he points out, “but you’ve gone all  _ responsible  _ on me again, so I guess I’ll just keep it to myself.”

He raises an eyebrow – a challenge, Martin thinks – and half-turns to go. Martin knows it would be responsible to let him get back to work, to let this conversation end before it gets to a point where he actually regrets shutting Tim down, but he also knows that Tim wants him to ask. Tim wants him to ask, and he wants to know, so it seems an easy enough decision.

“Wait,” he says, defeated but not altogether unhappy about it. “Tell me what you’re thinking. We can’t do it now,” he qualifies, thinking it’s best to make that very clear, “but I’d like to hear it, at least. We’ve got time for that.”

“You mean time before anybody comes looking for us?”

“Yeah, come on, Tim. Please?”

Martin will never understand why Tim always gives in when he asks for anything, as long as he uses that tone and this face. He understands what it looks like when it’s Tim’s voice and Tim’s pouting lips and Tim’s puppy dog eyes, he knows how it makes  _ him  _ feel from the other side of the equation, but – he’s not Tim. 

All told, he could apply the same logic to their entire relationship: Martin is obviously attracted to Tim, obviously into him, because who wouldn’t be? And then it always feels a bit surreal when he’s reminded that Tim feels the same way about him, because why would he? 

But here he is, clearly demonstrating that fact, his face melting from his mischievous, teasing grin into something soft and sweet. He leans back into Martin’s space, loops his arms around his waist, and looks at him like he hung the moon.

“I was just thinking,” Tim murmurs, low and slow, “it might be different, if we – if things were… you know. Different.”

“Very astute,” Martin replies sardonically. “What does that mean?”

His face darkening with a deep flush, Tim sighs, looks off to the side. “Just that… you know, obviously, it’s…  _ impractical,”  _ he wrinkles his nose at the word, “for us to fool around at work. But we could do other things, if it wasn’t for – I don’t know, you’ll think it’s ridiculous.”

Martin furrows his brow deeply, tilts his head to the side. “How am I meant to think anything of it, if I don’t know what it is?”

For a long moment, Martin only hears Tim’s uneven breathing and several loud, nervous gulps. He almost imagines he can feel Tim’s heartbeat against his chest. If Tim doesn’t want to tell him what he’s thinking, then he won’t, but Martin gives him plenty of time to think it over, because he really is quite curious now.

Eventually, Tim speaks up again, his voice quiet but far from timid. “It’s just – if it’s inappropriate, or, or  _ unprofessional  _ for us to be doing what we’re doing, that’s only because we’re… sleeping together, right? Because we’re sleeping together and we’re not… together.”

“I. I suppose?” Martin ventures, unsure where Tim is going with this. Or rather, fairly sure where Tim is going with this, and unsure how he feels about it or how he should respond to it.

“Right,” Tim continues as if Martin’s agreement had been far more confident than it actually was. “So I’m just saying, it might be different, if we were. Together, I mean.”

“Tim,” says Martin in his well-worn cautionary tone. “What are you saying? Do you – do you want that? No,” he adds in a rush, “don’t answer that, not right now. It’s not – I’m not so keen on sneaking around to have surreptitious talks about our relationship, any more than I’m keen on sneaking around to snog in the stacks.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Tim says, taking a little step back. “Not the time or the place. I just thought – well, everyone already knows, so why are we even bothering to hide? And then I thought, we wouldn’t have to hide, if we were more than – than what we are. It would be – I don’t know, more acceptable? But it’s stupid, I told you it was ridiculous.”

Martin gives him a slow nod, not realizing how Tim will take the gesture until it’s too late. He watches Tim’s face fall, his body sag, and guilt rises hot in his throat, and he almost can’t get the words out before Tim leaves, but he manages just in time: “It’s not stupid,” he blurts out, and then upon seeing the hopeful look in Tim’s eyes, “We’ll talk about it later, alright? Like, talk about it for real. Is that okay?”

Tim brightens considerably, hums an affirmative, steps in close to Martin again. “Can I get one for the road?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes.

This time, Martin doesn’t hold back. He takes Tim’s face in both his hands and kisses him fierce and deep, like a promise, and they both return to their desks with cheeks flushed, lips tingling, hearts racing.


End file.
